This Doesn't Seem Right
by Archived-AndInactive
Summary: A bully-in-training realizes he may be fighting for the wrong side.


**This is just a quick oneshot I wrote in honor of all the bullying drama that's been going on lately.**

**Thanks to ****britchenhauer for being my beta.**

"Right this way kiddies, we've got something special in store for you!" Azimio's voice boomed through the halls.

Andrew Mahl hurried to keep up with the two upperclassmen ahead of him, the heavy footsteps echoing in the nearly-empty hallway. Drew was a freshman football player, and he - along with a small group of young students on various fall sports teams - were being taken on a crash course in bullying by two of the most notorious assholes in the school.

"For today's lesson, we're gonna show you how to handle queers." Karofsky informed them with a sneer. "We've gone through the trouble of catching one to save us some time. C'mon, we're going to the locker room." The pair lumbered towards the gym, expecting the new kids to follow.

Drew glanced at his reflection in the shiny tile floors as he walked. He fit the makings of a jock - rather tall and sturdily-built, if not a little on the heavy side - and had short blonde hair. He thought about what he'd done to get himself into this mess. The boy had initially been thrilled to be "inducted" by the toughest kids in Lima. However, as time wore on, he grew less and less enthused about the behaviours they were trying to build. It just didn't seem right to him. He assumed that he wasn't the only one who felt this way, and with time, it would pass. He shoved these misgivings to the back of his mind and tried to focus on what Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were lecturing about.

"... And they think we should let them _marry,_" Azimio was saying, as if it was the most absurd thought in the world.

"Here we are!" Karofsky announced. He opened the doors of the locker room and led them inside and around a corner where they saw a couple of jocks holding down a very disgruntled, very well-dressed student. He looked young, but Andrew assumed he was probably at least a Sophomore or Junior. Even when being rather pathetically pinned to the lockers by a pair of hockey teamers - one on each arm - there was something dignified in the way he stood there, not struggling or begging for mercy, but simply eyeing them all with a quiet disdain.

"Hey princess, ready to be our demonstration?" Karofsky spat.

The prisoner rolled his eyes and shot back, "A four-syllable word? That's quite a mouthful for you; I'm impressed. Have you been actually looking at some of that homework you're making people do for you? And don't spit on me when you talk, it's revolting."

Drew bit back a smile at the snappy comment. For some reason he found it amusing. Apparently he was the only one.

"Shut up, faggot!" Azimio seethed before backhanding him roughly, knocking his head against a lock. Drew flinched before he could stop himself.

"Ow! Watch it, you imbicile!" The student snapped, louder but no less condescending. Was he shaking? Maybe it was just the freshman's imagination.

Again, Drew realized that he was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and he still was unable shake the feeling that something about this was just very, very, blatantly _wrong. _He found himself wondering if this sharp-tongued boy had done anything to annoy these guys first, or if they had just picked on him because of how he looked and spoke (he had a high-pitched voice) and he had simply grown defensive in retaliation.

"Now then," Karofsky continued, apparently deciding not to converse with his quick-witted victim further, "here's how we shut him up."

He wheeled around and slammed a meaty fist into the effeminate boy's gut, causing him to make a strange gasping noise. Azimio chuckled, then nodded at the hockey players restraining him. They released his arms and he doubled over, trying to catch his breath without losing his composure.

The other freshman athletes were laughing, whispering excitedly, or attempting to take mental notes. Drew felt sick. He repressed it. He felt angry and sorry and a little bit like he'd rather be in the position of the boy gasping for air than that of the morons now taunting him. He repressed that, too.

"Well at least nobody will ever argue that the bullies of McKinley High have more bark than bite." The injured student wheezed, his pain-weakened voice still laden with sarcasm, "you half-witts have yet to learn the art of barking, so all you're capable of is biting anything that doesn't fit the biggoted utopian universe you've been brainwashed to believe exists." Though every other word was punctuated by a gasping breath, the impact of the statement was not lost. Drew didn't grasp the entire meaning, but he was pretty sure he got the main idea: The bullies were too stupid to communicate with anything other than fists.

Karofsky and Azimio seemed to understand even less than that, but it didn't stop them from realizing they'd been insulted.

"Yeah... well... we've got one helluva bite!" Karofsky announced proudly (the only familiar phrase that he picked out of the long-winded jab was the dog reference.) To validate this claim, he reeled back and kicked the fashionista hard in the ribs. When he couldn't stop a groan from escaping his lips after the blow, the bully smirked proudly with a look of accomplishment creeping into his smug features.

Azimio laughed.

Slowly, the jocks began to file out of the room, talking boisterously and jesting each other as they left one by one until only Drew remained, fists clenched at his sides. He told himself to snap out of it, to forget about this kid - _he's a fag_, Andrew tried to tell himself - but the word sounded awful in his mind and he knew it would taste bitter on his lips, and he felt terrible because it wasn't supposed to. He needed to _get the hell over himself and be cool already._ Because that was the only way to be happy in high school. If he wasn't, he'd end up like-

He realized his eyes were squeezed shut.

He slowly forced himself to relax, to unball his fists, and to lift his heavy eyelids. When he did, he looked right into the blue (_green?_) eyes of the kid who just a few moments ago had a foot buried in his chest.

He seemed to have recovered a bit; he'd moved to a more neutral sitting position with his legs out in front of him and his back resting against the lockers, and his breathing had slowed. With a slightly embarassed pang, Drew wondered how long he'd been standing there, probably looking constipated.

"You think you need to be one of them to be happy?" He asked suddenly, and Drew jumped. That's _exactly_ what he'd been thinking.

"W-well, yeah..." Drew tried to answer, but trailed off. "How...?" He wasn't very articulate today. Bad timing since he seemed to be conversing with the King of Snarky Word Choice.

"Well. Are you happy? Because you're practically one of them. And you look pretty damn miserable to me."

Drew doesn't know how to answer. He feels an inexplicable wave of rage. Who is this guy to tell him how to find joy in his own life?

"You think that to have a good time in high school, you need to hang with these morons? And act like them? Well that's bullshit. You're uncomfortable. What makes you think that's gonna change? And even if you can control it, you'll never be as satisfied as you would if you spent time with people who _don't _make you feel that way."

Andrew's common sense urged him to listen, but a lifetime of hearing the opposite made him wary.

"If you want proof, just look at me. I'm happier than you, and I'm the one on the floor -getting dust and sweat and lord knows what else on my new pants, I might add."

Drew began to wonder if he had a point. And - he tries to rationalize with himself - it's not like he was dooming himself to be a loser. Maybe he could just be, like, a jock who doesn't pick on other kids. There must be some neutral athletes at this school, right? The more he thought about it, the more he began to talk himself into the idea of _not _being a bully. He rather liked the concept. He had half a mind to ditch the tough-guy persona all together. After all, it wasn't really him...

The other half of his mind, though, was scolding him, yelling to walk away from this loser, man up, stop being a pussy, and deal with it. He had an invitation to be one of the top badasses in the whole school. Only a moron would throw that away just because of a little squeamishness. He could train himself out of that. He _would_.

"So, what's your name?" The possibly-wise student inquired, interrupting Drew's thoughts yet again.

"Oh, I'm ah, Andrew. Drew, if you want." He answered haltingly.

"Hello Andrew," he responded, apparently not one for nicknames, "I'm Kurt."

"Hi." He can't think of anything more to say.

Neither can Kurt, it appears, because he reaches into his bag - which had been tossed on a bench at some point - for a cell phone, on which he begins pressing buttons.

"S-so, I'll just be, um, yeah..." Drew stuttered, gesturing towards the door. "And y'know, hope you feel better... and all that. Um, bye."

Kurt looked up and have a small, warm half-smile and a short wave as Andrew backed out the door. Suddenly he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

As he's closing the door, he hears Kurt talking on his phone. "Hey 'Cedes? Can you and Tina go to the office with headaches? I could really use some asprin..."

Once he's out the door, he turns and quickly makes his way towards the bus stop. He needs to get home.

He has a lot to think about.


End file.
